Chalk & Soap
by moonswirl
Summary: Gleekathon, day eight hundred and sixty-three: top 16, number 15: Emma took the vest and brought it home, and there she began to ask herself some questions.


_Started my daily ficlets to make the hiatus pass, then decided to keep going with a 2nd cycle, and then a 3rd, 4th, etc through 41st cycle. Now cycle 42!_

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><p><em><strong>INTRODUCING "CHEAT SHEET" - <strong>If you want to know ahead of time when a certain series will be updated next, just reassemble the link below and check out the list, save it, print it, bookmark it, whatever you need!  
>Go to: <span>gleekathon [dot] tumblr [dot] com [slash] cheatsheet<span>_

_** UPDATED WITH CYCLE 42 CHEAT SHEET **_

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><p><strong>Countdown cycle #4 - <strong>Yes, it's that time again, where I select 16 favorite things (characters, ships, friendships...) from Glee and give them each a ficlet, and a chapter fic for #1. The previous countdown cycles, if you want to check them out, were c10 [days 190-210], c25 [days 505-525], and c29 [days 589-609]. Like the last countdowns, the #1 story is split in 3 blocks, the chapters posted on Tuesdays and Wednesdays over these three weeks, with #16 to #2 from Thursdays to Mondays.  
><strong>Coming in at #15...<strong>

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><p><strong>"Chalk &amp; Soap"<br>Emma (with a bit of Emma/Will) **

It sat in her bag until the next morning. It wasn't that she'd forgotten it was there, it was that she remembered that she'd taken it… just grabbed it, folded neatly, and slipped it in her bag. It wasn't like she'd stolen it, right? She was sure Will wouldn't mind. But in that instant it had been an impulse, protective and hasty and… personal…

After breakfast she just couldn't put it off any longer, so she'd gone and pulled it out… The vest smelled like him, without even having to bring it to her nose. For that reason she hesitated about washing it, but then she had to. She was making progress, getting better, yes, but that didn't mean a complete turnaround. Her primary concern in this case had to do with chalk. She guessed, being a teacher, wielding the white sticks day in, day out, the residue just stuck to you. And with the texture of his vests, it had to have really gotten in there deep. So with a deep breath of that scent, she'd gone and started the very small laundry load, turned on the washing machine and let the cycle run.

She remembered days when she wouldn't even have dreamed of bringing the vest into her home before cleaning it, instead of having it the other way around. Her mind would have gone to the exact same places, identifying what needed to be expelled, so on that side not much had changed.

She was all for getting better, she wanted it, but it didn't mean she would lose everything about who she was. If that was what would happen, then she wouldn't have gone and tried. But it was about finding the space in between, losing the parts that kept her paces behind everyone else while allowing the rest of her to thrive and leap forward. Most people wouldn't get that unless they'd lived something similar, and even then… There was always something about one's own path that was to be protected, like no one else would understand.

The bell rang, indicating the washer was done. Pulling the vest out, soaked through, she laid it out and looked at it… She could see him wearing it, just looking at it. They all teased him about them, and maybe she did, too, just a little, sometimes, but never to be mean. They fit him, became him. It was a personal touch, and she could appreciate that. What she appreciated less was chalk, and she could still feel it would be in there. She shook her head and put it back for a second wash and returned to work on her pamphlets.

Was it how people identified her? They'd latched on to Will with his vests, so had they latched on to her with her… issues? The faculty was one thing. She knew Sue loved to mess with her, but that was Sue. Having her pass a comment on you was somewhere between a rite of passage and a recognition of existence. A few others would say this or that, but it didn't concern her too much. It was everyone else, making assumptions about her, passing judgment…

Did they even notice how she tried so hard to get better? She was growing weary of the term 'changing,' among others. To her most words would indicate nothing of the slow crawl she was having to make to even get close to this new state of being she couldn't even define. She could see all these people living life the way she wanted to live it, and they made it seem so easy. But to her, having to put herself in those situations, it felt like she was a small child, trying to walk in her mother's shoes… She didn't fit in them, she was clumsy, and she looked it as well as felt it. Seeing others do it was a completely different story from actually living it.

She was still herself, as well she should be, but it left her clueless to so many experiences she had never had, because she was scared, or because she couldn't bring herself to try… So she knew no matter what she did there would always be these things she wouldn't do like others, even if she tried. That was okay. It all came back to wanting and needing to retain who she was, even if she did improve on other points.

The bell rang for a second time, and again she went and laid out the vest. She ran her fingers over it, traced contours… Yes, two washes would be plenty. If there was still chalk, trying to remove it would probably involve tearing the thing apart, and she didn't want that. So now off into the drier it went.

She was doing this for herself. Maybe they'd think she was doing it for him, and on some level part of that was true, but at heart it was for her. She'd spent too much time fretting about things she shouldn't have been fretting over, and she was growing very close to being tired of it. There were things she wanted in life, and she wasn't getting them because of that. It had taken her a long time to even understand that, and to make the first move toward change, but she was getting there. She was scared, that she'd get on her way, actually find her road, and then she'd relapse back and further down… This was going to be for good, it could only be…

The drier rang, the vest was dry. She'd gone and retrieved it, warm and soft… This was the part she liked about laundry, nothing would change that. She breathed in the scent and, to her surprise… lovely, lovely surprise… she could still smell him in there. He was still there, like the chalk remnants, unshakeable.

THE END

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><p><strong>AN: This is a one-shot ficlet, which means that signing up for story alert will not bring you any alerts.  
><strong>**In the event of a sequel, the story will be separate from this one. And as chapter stories go, they are  
><strong>******always clearly indicated as such [ex: "Days 204-210" in the summary] Thank you!******


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